


Joy

by Sorceressam



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Crush at First Sight, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Did I mention pining?, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, Explicit Language, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Happy Ending, Humor, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, One-Sided Attraction, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith/Lance (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Pidge | Katie Holt, Soft Keith (Voltron), Supernatural Elements, They're all older, but here we are, idk why im writing so many Keith-centric fics, like mid to early 20s, lots of emotions, more of a infatuation at first sight, sort of??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorceressam/pseuds/Sorceressam
Summary: Keith is perpetually unhappy. As an Emotion Eater, the only time he experiences true joy is when he syphons it from others. While on a road trip across the U.S. for what he hopes to be a cure he meets Lance: a boy who, seemingly, never stops laughing. Keith isn't sure why he can't suck away his joy, when Lance so clearly has enough happiness for the both of them.-- On a short hiatus while I finalize the story outline and rewrite ch. 1, will be back and updating regularly soon





	Joy

**Author's Note:**

> i rewrote this like 10 times bc i couldn't get it right and i'm not even sure i'm happy w/ this but w/e ig  
> compliments and criticism are greatly, greatly appreciated

_Emotion Eaters: Supernatural beings that are born unable to feel specific emotions unless stolen from someone else. The emotion that an Emotion Eater may be unable to create varies from person to person and can range anywhere from thrilled to hatred. Some Emotion Eaters go unaware of their supernatural origin for their whole lives, in most cases these Emotion Eaters have a less common and more inconspicuous lack of emotion; such as contentment or irritation. If an Emotion Eater is able to recognize the emotion they are unable to feel, and learn to harness the energy others generate when experiencing that emotion, they will be able to feed off that person (and thus feel that emotion) for a limited amount of time before they will have to feed again. The victims of Emotion Eaters are drained of whatever emotion they were feeling at the time and will be unable to experience that particular emotion for a short period of time, but ultimately, no permanent damage is ever done unless fed upon for an elongated period of time. Emotion Eaters are strongly advised to eat in a rotation to avoid inflicting serious emotional trauma upon their prey._

* * *

 Pidge had scoped out a new bar for them, something they did when their last spot got crowded and over-run with other Emotion Eaters. It made it hard to find someone who hadn’t been drained by the time Keith got there — something Pidge constantly berated him for. “You know, happiness is like- the most common emotion to need. Your being ‘fashionably late’, or whatever, is only hurting yourself.” He’d usually roll his eyes and say something along the lines of: “Aw, you care.” And they’d mutter a “You wish,” under their breath and glare at him when they passed him some weird concoction to bribe a cute boy with over the countertop.

Most bars were rank, filled with the smell of booze and body odor; women and men grinding their twenties away on the dance floor in an intoxicated haze. Keith didn’t understand the appeal, didn’t get why people so willingly drank away their paychecks and drove home with strangers. Bars were good feeding grounds though, and not just for him. A lot of emotion eaters prowled the dance floor and lingered by the bar; drunk people were prone to experiencing heightened emotions and bouncing back quicker than sober people. They were easy prey.

This new one — Insignia — was no different. The room was colored in soft purple hues, the pale lights dancing across the bar-goers faces, making them all look sickly and unappetizing. Not that looks really mattered when it came to feeding off emotions, it was just more satisfying to take it from someone who displayed their happiness in bright eyes and wide smiles; not in drained colors and dark under-eyes. Pidge called him picky. He couldn’t argue that.

“Keith, if you’re going to take up space at my bar brooding; you’re going to have to order something.” Pidge muttered, thumping him on the back of the head.

He sighed, spinning around in the barstool to face them. “I’m not brooding.” 

“Sure you’re not…” They mused lowly, eyes wandering away from the glass they were drying to trace over the crowd. “You should probably pick someone soon,”

“Why? I have all night.”

Pidge shrugged, “there’s already a Galra scout here.” They answered flatly. Emotion Eaters had a tendency to flock together, though none of the other groups had managed to create such an intimidating name for themselves. They showed little remorse for their victims, feeding off the same people for weeks at a time, leaving them as little more than shells of their former selves. They were territorial, and unapologetic in their blasé tactics; their lack of empathy and compassion for both their prey and other Emotion Eaters made them dangerous enemies to cross. When they chose a place to set up shop, they effectively drained it of all its life: stealing the emotions from the locals and driving the other ‘freelance’ Emotion Eaters from the area.

Pidge was good at finding backwater bars and undiscovered, up-and-coming places to stake out, due to her ‘classified connections’. Keith assumed that was code for mole. The two of them were always just barely ahead of the Galra, and it was getting hard to keep that upper-hand.  
Keith scowled, “We’ve only been here two nights, Pidge.” He muttered, craning his neck to see behind him without having to turn. “Your info is getting shoddy, we’re going to be out of places to go soon.”

Pidge hummed, nonchalant in the way they cleaned the spotless glass. “No, Keith, you’ll be out of places to go.” They mused, “I don’t really need to feed that often, it’s not like I _want_ to feel disappointed.”

Keith hesitated, watching Pidge with narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about?” He asked tentatively.

They set the glass on the sticky countertop, exhaling sharply. “I’m talking about how I only do this for you, idiot. I don’t _need_ to feed off disappointment, I don’t _want_ to feel disappointed; but you _want_ be happy, and frankly, you _deserve_ to be happy. But I’m not going to run myself ragged trying to find you new feeding grounds just for you to get pissy with me because they don’t meet all of Keith Kogane’s expectations.”

Keith knew how much Pidge did for him; they were the only person he even bothered to talk to anymore. The two met in high school and had bonded over their interest in the supernatural and their mutual love of Ewoks. They’d been there when he’d aged out of the foster system and didn’t have a home to go to; they were always waiting for him when he came back from one of his benders; they reset his broken noses, and spell checked his resumes. Pidge stayed with him when no one else did, and he wasn’t even sure why.

They sighed, pushing their thin-wire glasses up to the top of their head so they could pinch the bridge of their nose. “Look, Keith,” they started with a sigh, “I… love you - or whatever. God…” They groaned, dropping their head into their hands. “Fuck.” They breathed into their palms. 

Keith frowned, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Pidge you don’t have to do this, okay? I’m sor-“

“No. No it’s fine.” They answered back hastily, dropping their hands to adjust their glasses. “I want to say this.” They looked up for confirmation to continue, amber eyes determined and brow set behind their glasses.

Keith wasn’t unfamiliar with Pidge’s lectures, they went off on tangents about things he couldn’t even pronounce; and somewhere between the argument of whether eggs should be eaten with a spoon or fork and the 157 page powerpoint on why I’ll Make a Man Out of You is the best Disney song to have ever been written, he stopped fighting it. Pidge’s (often) inane lectures became a staple in their friendship. He studied for his biology final to Pidge complaining about how Sims legalized gay marriage before ‘actual human people’, he was talked down from panic attacks because they had decided the musky floor of the last stall in the men’s bathroom at Wendy’s was the best place to lay out their case against the Zodiac Killer, and they convinced him to move on from his last ex by creating a 3-ring binder full of all his flaws. The fact that he didn’t recycle was brought up a lot.

Keith got the feeling that this lecture wasn’t like the others though, their posture was stiff and rigid, shoulders tight with tension. He hated seeing them so unsure of themselves; hated that he knew they were chewing on the inside of their cheek, and that they’d clearly been sitting on this long enough for it to fester into a wordless anxiety. He nodded, shifting in the barstool. The last time Pidge had had a serious talk with him they’d confessed to like liking him — but more importantly, they also confessed to cheating on their Sophomore Human Studies midterm. Keith counted that as both an incredible display of word vomit and the single best gift he had ever received. Finding out Pidge had a crush on him was nice — albeit awkward — too.

Pidge tilted their head towards the water-stained ceiling, steeling themselves with closed eyes. “Yeah. So, as previously mentioned: I love you.” They started, bringing their gaze down to level Keith with a hard stare. “Which means you need to stop being so self-fucking-destructive. I might be the only person who genuinely likes you, but thats one more than those Galra freaks have. But you’re right, you’re not picky; you’re just afraid of commitment.” Keith frowned, opening his mouth to rebuke their statement.

Pidge glared at him, drawing a zipping motion over their lips and he clicked his jaw shut obediently. “I’ve been busting my ass trying to find you a half decent meal for the past three years because you refuse to just _try_ finding an Emotion Giver.”

“Because they’re no-“

“Yes they are!” Pidge interrupted loudly, causing a few of the other patrons to shoot them questioning looks. Keith twisted around to see if the Galra scout had noticed them, eyes roaming over the bustle of people without finding the telltale symbol of the Galra carved into the sides of anyone’s cheeks. He turned back around on the stool in time to see Pidge’s boss — a small old woman with sharp nails and a sharper tongue — approaching them.

Keith nodded subtly in the direction of the woman to give Pidge a heads up and their shoulders sagged before plastering a strained smile on their face, turning to face her. “Hey, Haggar, whats up?”

The woman stopped abruptly, edging just outside of Pidge’s personal space. Her eyes darted to Keith, the scowl she shot him wrinkling her face further. “You’re incompetent.” She spat, turning her severe eyes on Pidge. Under the purple lighting of the bar Haggar’s skin took on a haunting shade of lilac; Keith never thought such a pastel, serene color could be so intimidating. “Customers are complaining about you, and you’re costing me money.” 

Pidge frowned, their fingers fidgeting against their thigh. “What- What are they complaining about?” 

“You.” Haggar answered. It was vague even to Keith — Pidge hadn’t even done anything. “Start giving all the customers equal treatment,” she said, eyes cutting over to pin Keith to his chair. “Or you’ll be costing me more money than you’re worth.” Pidge’s fingers tightened around the loose fabric of their shorts, unmoving.

“Well she’s a bitch.” Keith said once Haggar had turned on her heel and clicked her way back to her office. 

Pidge grunted in agreement, white-knuckled fingers loosening. “Yeah.” They answered back stiffly, turning to face Keith. “But this isn’t over. You need to start seriously thinking about finding an Emotion Giver, because I don’t think I’ll be able to keep this job long.” They began, picking up the same clean glass and running the rag over it again. “Not between the Galra scouts and Haggar, that is.” They stressed, eyes softening in the only indication that they were sorry about the turn of events. “I have a friend — Allura — a few states over that runs an underground business; pairing up Emotion Eaters with Emotion Givers.”

Keith sighed, resting his elbows on the bar-top, cheek rested against his fist. “Sounds shady.” He mumbled.

Pidge squinted at him behind their glasses. “Shut up, I’m trying to help you.” They muttered, turning around to finally put the clean glass back on the rack. “This is her number. Don’t call her, she only answers texts.” They instructed, pulling a pen from behind their ear to scribble the number on a napkin with a dried ring of perspiration on it in green ink. 

They glanced over their shoulder and Keith followed their line of sight to see Haggar leaning her head out of her office to stare out at them conspicuously. Pidge sighed, turning their attention back to Keith. “I should get back to work. If I don’t come home tonight its because my dismembered body is hanging out with the rats downstairs.” They huffed, pushing the napkin across the bar to him. “Text her.” They said, leveling him with a look that dared him to not do as instructed. Her held their stare until they broke away when a man yelled down the bar for an Apple Martini.

Keith grimaced, mouthing a “gross” to Pidge as they busied themselves with making the bitter drink. They laughed lightly under their breath, smile tugging at the corners of their mouth; and Keith counted that as a win.

Realistically, Keith knew Pidge was right: for years they’d been babying him — making sure he fed regularly and that he’d had a safe place to sleep each night before they’d moved in together after college. He grabbed the napkin, eyes roaming over the hastily scrawled ten digit number, swiveling around on the stool to watch the drunken dancers and the slurred flirting of the minglers.

Time crawled by, and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander while his eyes took in the repetitive actions of the bars patrons. Emotion Givers were considered a myth among Emotion Eaters, they were spoken of in hushed whispers most wished to be true. Lore depicted them as ethereal beings: charming and captivating those in their presence. Keith hadn’t allowed himself the hope that he’d find an Emotion Giver after his year of fruitless searching.

It’d been his sophomore year of college when Pidge had pulled him into an old, dusty supply closet branching off the main hallway of the science building. He’d already been pushing the clock, having woken up late with only half his homework done from the night before and no time to shower or change before his 9 A.M. Astronomy class. It didn’t help that his “What the fuck, Pidge?” Was only met with a “Heh, so we’re both back in the closet now?” Keith had groaned, shooting them a withering look as he struggled to keep a firm grip on his textbooks and open the door at the same time. Pidge started talking, words jumbled and tripping over one another in their haste to reach Keith before he made it out the door.

Keith missed a lot of classes that semester, barely passing after hearing Pidge’s Emotion Givers theory. A person who had the opposite problem of an Emotion Eater; a person who generated unhealthy amounts of any given emotion. It was enough to send him on a hunt for something he wasn’t even sure existed, plowing through old lore books on mythical creatures in the library instead of studying for his theoretical algebra quiz he had in a week. His research yielded no results, and the childlike hope he’d built up and fueled came crumbling down.

He pointedly ignored all of Pidge’s protests and new theories about Emotion Givers, getting his hopes up again wasn’t worth the small possibility that the rumors could be true. Emotion Givers were rare, an overabundance of an emotion was easier to hide than the complete lack of one. Keith balled the napkin up in his hand, eyes darting over to look at Pidge refill a blonde girls glass with a pink tonic before shoving the number in his jacket pocket. He didn’t need anymore false hope.

Keith waited by the bar for another hour, occasionally signaling Pidge over to make him some virgin drink they’d tease him for when they got a free minute. He didn’t like drinking — not if he could help it — it numbed his already weak emotions, made the emotions he fed on duller and foggy, less satisfying. He chewed idly at the thin black straw in his glass, watching a girl tilt her head back to laugh unabashedly with half-lidded eyes, her orange drink sloshing over the edges of her glass. 

He felt Pidge poke him between his shoulder blades on their way past him, shooting a knowing look back over their shoulder, nodding openly towards the girl. Keith sighed, letting his gaze wander back to her. Her friends leaned against her lazily, phones out and recording their drunken jokes and careless dancing. Pidge cleared their throat loudly, eyebrows raised high into their hairline when they nodded curtly towards the girl again.

Keith groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. Feeding wasn’t considered distinctly carnal amongst most Emotion Eaters, but it put Keith in a position that made him vulnerable: the overwhelming fill of emotion leaving him exposed and feeling helpless. He took care to only feed off people he found unthreatening, someone who wouldn’t think to take advantage of him. 

“Keith.” Pidge’s voice was stiff, their eyes sharp and piercing, urging him towards the dark skinned girl. He grumbled under his breath, dropping the glass onto the countertop with a thump. 

“Fine.” He muttered, getting to his feet. 

Pidge smiled triumphantly, shooing him off with a hurried “don’t stalk!” And Keith readjusted his stance with barely concealed irritation and made his way over to the girl, a smile stretched thinly over his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> ???? hope u enjoyed?? i had like 3 diff betas but i have anxiety and i still need reassurance  
> my depression slump is (hopefully) over so I'll try to have the next ch. out soon <3


End file.
